Crown of Thorns
by Gaerdir
Summary: It all began in the graveyard of Little Hangleton, 1995. It was there that the salvation of Magical Britain came to a crashing end. But it was also there that the salvation of the Wizarding World began. A far darker danger is fast approaching the blissfully ignorant magical world. Their past is coming to haunt them. Who will rise to save them? In-progress. AU.
1. Prologue: Arisen from the Dead

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**Crown of Thorns**

**Prologue: Arisen from the Dead**

_By Gaerdir_

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"[death]... the abyss from where no traveler is permitted to return." - George Washington

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_June 21, 1998_

_Azkaban Wizarding Prison_

A warning red flare shot through the cold, unforgiving air of Azkaban. The grey, overcast skies cast a gloom upon the island that had never once been removed, not even when its most faithful guardians left its shores to follow a half-blood master.

The grizzled Auror, who had tensed at the dreaded signal, grunted at the smug aura he could feel radiating from his younger protégé.

"Well, Mad-Eye? Is there anything you would like to say?" The young woman asked cheekily.

"I didn't say you were right, Tonks, not yet."

"You didn't say I was wrong, either, old man. And that signal just confirmed my victory."

Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody sighed and forked over a sizeable stack of Galleons. Tonks smiled victoriously as she pocketed them and began to twirl her wand. Alastor sighed again.

"How was I supposed to know Voldemort would attack in the morning and be all flashy? It's tactically sound to attack in the cover of darkness!" He barked in frustration.

"Know thy enemy, Moody. That's why I won. How else is he going to stamp his authority in the Wizarding World? He's gotta take on Magical Britain in broad daylight… and win, too."

XXX

A tall, skeletal man, clad in dark robes the color of midnight, stood on the rocky, barren shores of the wizarding prison. He sneered as he extended his magical senses outwards.

"Lucius, tell the men to prepare for some meager resistance. I can sense some company, regardless of how well-damped they may be." Voldemort coldly ordered, before striding towards the ominous building in the distance. "Severus, with me."

The potions master quickly followed after his master, his opaque black eyes guarding against any intrusion into his racing thoughts. Voldemort already knew of the presence of a spy in his ranks, and now of the Order's presence, but he hadn't faltered for even a minute. It was like he was ignoring a particularly bothersome fly.

Snape frowned. This didn't sit well with him at all.

XXX

Order members swallowed their fear and organized themselves into the formations that Dumbledore had described. They were ready to defend Azkaban, as it was not only the prison to their most feared criminals, but also, it was a symbol of justice in Magical Britain, and seeing it fall would be detrimental to morale.

Albus Dumbledore oversaw the proceedings sadly, knowing that no matter the size of the efforts, the war had ended three years ago, in an abandoned graveyard, where magic of the most obscure had been performed. He sighed morosely, before suddenly whipping around and staring at a far off speck in the sky.

"What is it, Albus?" Sirius Black asked worriedly, his eyes too alighting on the steadily-growing speck.

"I do not know, Sirius. But he is of immense magical power."

The other members quickly caught on to the two senior leaders' hidden tension, and also quickly focused on the person flying towards them, quickly beginning to finger their wands.

The man jumped off his broom and flipped in mid air, shrinking his Firebolt and stowing it away. He landed confidently in a half-crouch, looking warily at the wands pointed at him.

"Woah. Woah, guys calm down!" The man said as he made a sudden movement with his hands.

"Keep your hands where I can see them!" Sirius ordered roughly as a warning spell shot out of his wand. "Now tell me… who the fuck are you?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you… Sirius." The man said calmly, before turning and facing the aged leader of the forces. "My name, the Order of the Phoenix, is Harry James Potter, the Boy Who Lived. Once again, I guess."

Strong, sure hands reached up and grasped the edge of the thick hood shadowing the man's face. The edge was slowly pulled away.

Piercing, green eyes revealed themselves, glinting mischievously, as also did a lightning bolt scar.

XXX

Voldemort continued to stride towards his goal, before coming slowly to a stop.

His magic and wand cried out to him, trying to make him recognize what he had encountered. His senses went into overdrive as he struggled to process the sight before him.

In front of him stood a cloaked and hooded enemy he thought long gone in the summer of 1995. How had he arisen from the dead?

The figure chuckled darkly, lifting his hood away. "Guess I've been discovered then. Good to see you, Voldemort."

At Voldemort's answering sneer, the boy, no, man lifted his wand and got into a dueling stance.

"Ready to dance, Tom?" Harry said mockingly.

"It's been three years, Potter. Are you sure _you're_ ready?" Voldemort replied, before settling into his own crouch.

The two beings, representatives of the eternal clash of Light and Dark, snarled and leapt at each other, meeting in a burst of sparks and sound.

XXX

Tonks ducked and whirled, her mind still abuzz with the possibility of Harry bloody Potter being alive all these years. She chanced a glance over to where he had confronted the Dark Lord, and was stunned at what she saw. The 17 year old boy wonder was going toe to toe with the most dangerous Dark Wizard in the history of Magical Britain!

"Duck, lassie!" Her mentor's shout came suddenly, and she instinctively reacted, the Bone Breaker Curse just barely brushing her bright pink hair.

She nodded in thanks before refocusing on her battle, mentally thanking the gods that Dumbledore was free to assist them while Voldemort was being so masterfully handled.

Perhaps the Dark Lord's gamble would not pay off.

XXX

Voldemort snarled in frustration. The brat was keeping up with him, not giving an inch, and not allowing the Dark Lord to take a step closer to the prison. He could see Dumbledore and his Order decimating his remaining followers. Voldemort could not believe it, but his plan had gotten skewed with the boy's arrival, and he was being beaten back.

It was time to order a tactical retreat, and return to fight another day.

He pushed Harry back, and then took the chance to activate his special portkey that would smash through the wards and take him back to Malfoy Manor. He had been beaten, and he now had to lick his wounds. But he would come back stronger.

He was unprepared, that's why Potter could hold him off, that's all.

Dumbledore looked on in disbelief as Voldemort fled from Harry, taking the few Death Eaters still free with him. Such a growth in potential and power as seen in Harry was unprecedented. He could not even begin to guess at how Harry grew into such power.

The Order stood in stunned silence, before realizing that they had won, and had given themselves more time to defeat Voldemort.

"You saved a lot of lives today, Harry." Dumbledore said warmly. "You should be proud."

"Everyone fought well, Dumbledore. The credit does not only go to me. The people of Britain owe their lives to the Order as well."

Dumbledore hesitated. "Well, my dear boy, would you mind me asking –"

"– where I've been all this time?" Harry interrupted. "All in due time, Headmaster. All in due time. I'll see you at Hogwarts."

Harry lifted a hand, and erupted into a column of flames, leaving the area with a last nod to a bewildered Sirius.

The Order gasped at the display of power.

Albus smiled joyfully.

So Harry had found a phoenix? That began to explain where his growth had come from.

But for all purposes, Harry James Potter was dead. The goblins recognized it. A will had been released from Gringotts. His magical monitoring instruments had indicated that he was dead. But now, Albus had seen him in the flesh-and-blood.

Just what was going on?

How had Harry arisen from the dead?

XXX

_Hogwarts Headmaster's Office_

Harry James Potter relaxed in the fluffy armchair he had conjured for himself, the crackling, roaring fire he had started warming him comfortingly. He stoked the white bird on his shoulder absently, gazing at the whirring silver contraptions cluttering his Headmaster's desk. His piercing gaze sharpened on the single unmoving one, an odd construction consisting of a crescent moon attached to a half-circle stand.

Harry frowned and reached forward, picking up the still doodad for a closer examination.

The door swung open silently, and with a benign smile, Albus Dumbledore stepped in.

His smile dropped as he saw the unmoving construct in Harry's hands.

"There was a Prophecy, told to me on a rainy night, in the Hog's Head, in 1980," Dumbledore began, deciding to start the inevitable conversation quickly. "It was a genuine one, not like the flashes that the Seers usually see. It was an interview for the job of Divination professor, and I decided to give the great-granddaughter of such an acclaimed Seeress a chance. I was losing patience with the obvious untalented descendent, when all of a sudden, she grabbed me and began speaking the gravelly, old voice of legends."

Harry shifted in his seat, paying full attention to the Headmaster's explanation as the man himself began to move around Harry towards his own seat behind his desk.

"What I heard shocked me, Harry. Here was the means to the end! A way to stop the war! And it all began with a single baby, who would be born in the months following the interview. When the time came, it was down to just two candidates who matched the criteria given in the Prophecy…. Neville Longbottom and… you."

Dumbledore began to get a little nervous at the calm attitude Harry was displaying. He reached to the side, and pulled his side cabinet open, levitating the crude stone bowl within onto his desk. He looked down at the swirling, misty mess held; countless memories that held years of experience. He touched the tip of his knobby wand to the substance and began to swirl it.

"And here… for your own ears, Harry."

"_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not–" _

"–and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..." Harry interrupted in a monotone. "Good to see that this one is familiar, at least. I'd hate to run into a new one this close to my goals. You see, Headmaster, I did die that night. Voldemort beat me, and I was killed."

Dumbledore just stared, wondering what the hell was going on.

"I did die that night, but _I didn't move on. _Somehow, something happened. An anomaly in the timestream. I bucked the trend. Harry Potter, in every single dimension, was supposed to die on that night. But somehow, I survived in a limbo state, my body destroyed, and my soul slowly deteriorating from the lack of a physical anchor. And you know what happens when someone breaks one of the Ancient Laws."

Dumbledore nodded, his composure not restoring itself in the slightest.

"The phoenixes came for me, before _they _could. They protected me, and reconstructed me. I was an abomination in the eyes of creation, yet the guardians of Life and Light protect me. Their belief is that Magic does not make mistakes; there are no anomalies. I survived for a reason. For years, I've been on the run from _them_, looking, searching for this reason for my continued existence."

Dumbledore managed to croak out a single word from his suddenly parched throat. "Years?"

"You believe I am seventeen, I look twenty one, but I am actually in my early forties. I've travelled through countless dimensions, hiding, and for that, I mastered my Metamorphagus abilities. In this dimension, my current appearance seemed most prudent."

"Have you done this sort of… masquerade… before?" Dumbledore forced out.

"Yes. I've defeated at least twenty Voldemorts now, and countless minor dark lords throughout my travels. I guess you could say this is just another routine job for me, Headmaster."

Dumbledore staggered to his chair, shaken at the recent revelations.

Harry continued. "I don't normally reveal this all the time, Headmaster, but at least one person always finds out in every dimension. Most of the time, it's you, but other times it's my brother, sister, mother, father, Sirius or Ron and Hermione. It depends on the dimension's situation. Something tells me this one will require a more active role, so I'm telling you upfront."

"Call me Albus, Harry. And do show me your real face. After you've revealed so much, I can hardly begrudge you that."

"How is it that all you Albuses believe me on-the-spot?"

"A combination of passive Legilimency and judicious use of an impeccable Truth Ward. I also tend to be an excellent judge of character. And both of the Harry Potters I now know have always surpassed my expectations with flying colors."

Harry chuckled good-naturedly, before seeming to relax even further. He seemed to age five years in a matter of seconds, dots of white appearing in his inky black hair, which seemed to grow an inch longer. Crow's feet appeared at the end of his eyes, but otherwise, he looked the same.

Harry chuckled again at the Headmaster's surprised look. "I just age well, Albus."

Dumbledore couldn't hold it anymore and began to chuckle, which soon grew into a full laugh. Soon, Harry joined his, as the absurdity of the situation finally occurred to them. A few minutes, and a couple of wiped tears, later, both men settled back into the friendly atmosphere of the Headmaster's office.

"Well, Harry. Care to elaborate on your… travels?"


	2. A Plan Gone Right

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**Chapter One: A Plan Gone Right**

_By Gaerdir_

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"So spoke the Mother, and unfolding bright,

Toward the right hand of Her Glory, the Son

Blazed forth, completely revealed; he fully

Resplendent with his Mother's light."

- The Book of Redemption

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_June 24, 1995_

_Hogwarts Quidditch Grounds_

Harry crept forward warily, wand at the ready, a bead of light pulsing at its tip. Somehow, something didn't feel right. There was some sort of _wrongness _in the air, telling him that something was going to be happening –

"What are you doing?" Cedric's voice came from the path parallel to his on the right. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

And then Harry heard Krum's voice.

"_Crucio!_"

The air filled with Cedric's screams. Horrified, Harry began to run his hand along the monstrous hedge as he ran up his path, trying desperately to find a way through into Cedric's. When none appeared, he cast a Reductor curse, but it only burned a small hole into the hedge. Harry tried again, wincing as Cedric's screams reached higher pitches and volume. The Reductor curse fizzled away on the charmed leaves of the hedge.

Harry noticed his hand shaking uncontrollably.

_Focus, Potter. Now's not the time to lose control. You've got to save Cedric. _He thought to himself.

Harry closed his eyes, retreating into his mind to get a hold on his psyche and confidence. He felt himself calm down, and a sense of high awareness and alertness descended upon him.

"_Reducto!_"

A huge blast of magic erupted from his wand, glowing golden as it annulled the protective charms, and blew right through the overgrown greenery. Harry rushed through, barely glancing at a jerking Cedric, aiming his steady wand at the unprotected back of a fleeing Krum.

"_Stupefy!_"

A dark, blood-red colour beam flew, striking the professional seeker solidly on the back, forcing him to crumple to the ground unconscious. Harry quickly strode over to his fallen schoolmate, who had finally stopped twitching.

"You alright there, mate?" He couldn't help but ask, roughly grabbing Cedric's arm.

"Yeah," panted Cedric. "Yeah… I can't believe it… he snuck up behind me… I heard a noise, I turned around, and he fucking had his wand on me…"

Cedric got up, still shaking. Harry looked over at the prone body of their competitor.

"I don't believe this… I thought he was all right." Harry said.

"I did too." Cedric agreed.

"Did you hear Fleur scream earlier?"

"Yeah, I did. You think Krum got to her, too?"

"I don't know," Harry said slowly. "What do we do with him?"

"Should we leave him here?"

"No," Harry decided. "I reckon we should send up red sparks. Someone will come and collect him… there's just something that isn't striking me as right about this."

"You reckon?" Cedric asked, before raising his wand and shooting a shower of red sparks into the air, which hovered right above Krum, marking the spot where he lay.

The two Hogwarts champions stood there in the darkness for a moment, slowly realizing that they were the only champions left in the tournament… and that they were rivals for the victory. It was an odd moment, after they had been briefly united against Krum. Without another word, the two wizards followed their own paths, Cedric on the left and Harry on the right. The older boy's footsteps soon died away.

Harry balanced his wand in his palm and whispered "_Point me!" _each time he came to a place with two options. But every turn he took at a dark corner, he felt that he was getting farther and farther away from the centre of the maze where the Triwizard Cup lay. And for some reason, he wasn't running into any obstacles. Logically, that meant he was getting away from his goal. But Harry persevered, choosing to trust his magic and his wand. He began to move faster along his path, muttering the spell continuously to check his chosen direction. He seemed to be coming closer.

All of a sudden, his narrow path opened up into a larger one, and at the same time, his wand spun to the right. The Triwizard Cup stood there, gleaming on a plinth, just a hundred meters away. A muffled curse met his ears. He looked behind as he continued to sprint. Cedric's eyes were wide and worried.

"Look out, Harry! On your left!"

Harry realized the imminent danger too late, but still made a valiant attempt to dodge the sudden attack. The acromantula was too quick for him, and managed to grab a hold of his leg, swinging him precariously with its own front legs; its beady, black eyes focusing on him hungrily.

"_Stupefy_!" Harry yelled; from his angle, he could only hit the spider's gigantic, hairy black body, but for all the good it did, he might as well have thrown a stone at it; the spider jerked and scuttled around, tightening its hold on him.

"_Stupefy_! _Impedimenta_! _Stupefy_!"

But it was no use – the spider was either so large, or so magical, that the spells were doing no more than angering it. Harry had one last horrifying glimpse of eight shining black eyes and razor-sharp pincers before he was brought to its great maw.

Struggling madly, he tried to kick it; his leg connected with the sharp ends of the pincers and the next moment he was in excruciating pain. He could hear Cedric yelling "_Stupefy_!" too, but his spell had no more effect than Harry's had. Thinking quickly, Harry raised his wand as the spider opened its pincers once more and shouted "_Expelliarmus_!"

It worked, the Disarming Spell made the spider drop him, but that meant that Harry fell twelve feet onto his already injured leg, which crumpled beneath him, leaving him as an easy target. He landed right beneath the crazed beast. Without pausing to think, he aimed high at the spider's underbelly and shouted "_Stupefy_!" just as Cedric yelled the same thing.

The two spells combined did what one alone had not: The spi der keeled over sideways, crushing a nearby hedge, and strewing the path with a tangle of hairy legs.

"Harry!" he heard Cedric shouting. "You all right? Did it fall on you?"

"No," Harry called back, panting. He looked down at his leg. It was bleeding freely. He could see some sort of thick, gluey secre tion from the spider's pincers on his torn robes. He tried to get up, but his leg was shaking badly and did not want to support his weight. He leaned against the hedge, gasping for breath, and looked around.

Cedric was standing behind him, metres away from the gleaming Triwizard Cup. Harry knew he was in no condition to race the seventh year there.

"Take it, then," Harry panted to Cedric. "Go on, take it. You're nearly there now."

But Cedric didn't move. He merely stood there, looking at Harry. Then he turned to stare at the cup. Harry saw the longing expression on his face in its golden light. Cedric looked at Harry again, who was now holding onto the hedge to support him self. Cedric took a deep breath.

"You take it. You should win. You've saved my neck in here."

"That's not how it's supposed to work," Harry said. He felt an gry; his leg hurt, he was aching all over from trying to throw off the spider, and after all his efforts, Cedric, the damn seventh year, had beaten him to it. He wasn't in any sort of mood for this. "The one who reaches the cup first gets the victory. That's you. I'm telling you, I'm not going to win any races on this leg."

Cedric took a few paces nearer to the Stunned spider, towards the cup, but also towards Harry, shaking his head.

"No," he said.

"Stop being noble," said Harry irritably. "That's my fucking job. A Gryffindor's job. Hufflepuff need the glory, Cedric. It's time they were acknowledged. Just take it, and then we can get out of here."

Cedric watched Harry steadying himself, holding tight to the hedge.

"You told me about the dragons," Cedric said. "I would've gone down in the first task if you hadn't told me what was coming."

"I had help on that too," Harry snapped, trying to mop and wrap up his bloody leg with his robes. "You helped me with the egg – we're square."

"I had help on the egg in the first place," said Cedric.

"We're still square," said Harry, testing his leg gingerly; it shook violently as he put weight on it; it seemed as though he had sprained his ankle when the spider had dropped him.

"You should've got more points on the second task," said Cedric mulishly. "You stayed behind to get all the hostages. I should've done that."

"I was the only one who was thick enough to take that song se riously!" said Harry bitterly. "Just take the cup!"

"No," said Cedric. "I wouldn't be a Hufflepuff if I left a schoolmate, a comrade, someone who saved my life, behind to get the reward I didn't deserve. Loyal to the death, remember? You earned it Harry, younger than the rest of us, and the best of us all."

He stepped over the spider's tangled legs to join Harry, who stared at him. Cedric was serious. He was walking away from the sort of glory Hufflepuff House hadn't had in centuries.

"Go on," Cedric said. He looked as though this was costing him every ounce of resolution he had, but his face was set, his arms were folded, he seemed decided.

Harry looked from Cedric to the cup. For one shining moment, he saw himself emerging from the maze, holding it. He saw himself holding the Triwizard Cup aloft, heard the roar of the crowd, saw his friends' faces shining with admiration, more clearly than he had ever seen it before… and then the picture faded, and he found himself staring at Cedric's shadowy, stubborn face. And he felt an upsurge of pride and respect for this man in front of him. A man who stood by his morals, even when tempted by the greatest glory. He could easily go for the Cup, but he had chosen not to. It was Harry's decision now.

"Both of us," Harry said. _Cedric doesn't deserve to lose out now._

"What?"

"We'll take it at the same time. It's still a Hogwarts victory. We'll tie for it."

Cedric stared at Harry. He unfolded his arms.

"You – you sure?"

"Yeah," whispered Harry. "Yeah… we've helped each other out, haven't we? We both got here. Let's just take it together."

For a moment, Cedric looked as though he couldn't believe his ears; then his face split in a grin.

"You're on," he said. "I've never heard a better idea. Come here."

He grabbed Harry's arm below the shoulder and helped Harry limp toward the plinth where the cup stood. When they had reached it, they both grinned triumphantly at each other and held a hand out over one of the cup's gleam ing handles.

"On three, right?" said Harry. "One – two – three –"

He and Cedric both grasped a handle.

Instantly, Harry felt a jerk somewhere behind his navel. His feet had left the ground. He could not unclench the hand holding the Triwizard Cup; it was pulling him onward in a howl of wind and swirling colour, Cedric at his side.

XXX

Harry felt his feet slam into the ground; his injured leg gave way, and he fell forward; his hand let go of the Triwizard Cup at last. He raised his head.

"Where are we?" he said.

Cedric shook his head. He got up, pulled Harry to his feet, and they looked around.

They had left the Hogwarts grounds completely; they had obvi ously travelled miles – perhaps hundreds of miles – for even the mountains surrounding the castle were gone. They were standing instead in a dark and overgrown graveyard; the black outline of a small church was visible beyond a large yew tree to their right. A hill rose above them to their left. Harry could just make out the outline of a fine old house on the hillside.

Cedric looked down at the Triwizard Cup and then up at Harry.

"Did anyone tell _you_ the cup was a Portkey?" he asked.

"Nope," said Harry. He was looking around the graveyard. It was completely silent and slightly eerie. "Is this supposed to be part of the task?"

He was beginning to get that _feeling _again, a sense of wrongness permeating the air. Something was once again off about this whole situation.

"I don't know," said Cedric. He sounded slightly nervous.

"Wands out, d'you reckon?"

"Yeah," said Cedric, sounding mysteriously relieved.

They pulled out their wands. Harry kept looking around him. His senses were beginning to sharpen as he delved deeper inside his mind, searching for the calm that had overcome him when he Stupefied Krum in the maze.

"Someone's coming," he said suddenly.

Squinting tensely through the darkness, they watched the figure drawing nearer, walking steadily toward them between the graves. Harry couldn't make out a face, but from the way it was walking and holding its arms, he could tell that it was carrying something. Whoever it was, he was short, and wearing a hooded cloak pulled up over his head to obscure his face. And – several paces nearer, the gap between them closing all the time – Harry saw that the thing in the person's arms looked like a baby… or was it merely a bundle of robes?

Harry lowered his wand slightly and glanced sideways at Cedric. Cedric shot him a quizzical look. They both turned back to watch the approaching figure.

"I don't know if you noticed, Harry," Cedric began hesitantly. "But when you do your focussing thing, you begin to glow slightly. I remember seeing that right after you blew through that hedge to save me from Krum."

Harry looked at himself, stunned. Cedric was right, he could feel his magic thrumming beneath his skin, and that feeling seemed to manifest physically as well. It was only visible now because of the twilight permeating the sky around them. Harry looked at his senior and grinned.

"Well, I –" he began.

Then his scar twinged. Harry snapped his gaze back at the shady looking character.

The figure had stopped beside a towering marble headstone, only six feet from them. For a second, Harry and Cedric and the short figure simply looked at one another.

And then, without warning, Harry's scar exploded with pain. It was agony such as he had never felt in all his life; his wand slipped from his fingers as he put his hands over his face; his knees buck led; he was on the ground and he could see nothing at all; his head was about to split open, and his heightened awareness slipped away. He struggled to open his eyes. He could see Cedric bent over him, worried, asking him a question, but he couldn't hear anything, his brain was shutting down, and everything was silent, and his vision was growing darker, black spots swimming in the air. Cedric had stood up, brandishing his wand. Harry closed his heavy eyelids again.

From far away, above his head, slowly he heard, as if he was underwater, a high, cold voice say, "_Kill the spare._"

A swishing noise and a second voice, which screeched the words to the night: "_Avada Kedavra_!"

A blast of green light blazed through Harry's eyelids, and he heard something heavy fall to the ground beside him; the pain in his scar reached such a pitch that he retched, and then it dimin ished. Harry, though terrified of what he was about to see, opened his stinging eyes.

Cedric was lying spread-eagled on the ground beside him. He was dead.

For a second that contained an eternity, Harry stared into Cedric's face, at his open gray eyes, blank and expressionless as the windows of a deserted house, at his half-open mouth, which looked slightly surprised. And then, before Harry's mind had ac cepted what he was seeing, before he could feel anything but numb disbelief, he felt himself being pulled to his feet.

The short man in the cloak had put down his bundle, lit his wand, and was dragging Harry toward the marble headstone. Harry saw the name upon it flickering in the wandlight before he was forced around and slammed against it.

TOM RIDDLE

The cloaked man was now conjuring tight cords around Harry, tying him from neck to ankles to the headstone. Harry could hear shallow, fast breathing from the depths of the hood; he struggled, and the man hit him with a hand that had a finger miss ing. And Harry realized who was under the hood. It was Wormtail.

"You!" he gasped.

But Wormtail, who had finished conjuring the ropes, did not re ply; he was busy checking the tightness of the cords, fumbling over the knots. Once sure that Harry was bound so tightly to the headstone that he couldn't move an inch, Wormtail drew a length of some black material from the inside of his cloak and stuffed it roughly into Harry's mouth; then, without a word, he turned from Harry and hurried away. Harry couldn't make a sound, nor could he see where Wormtail had gone; he couldn't turn his head to see beyond the headstone; he could see only what was right in front of him.

Cedric's body was lying some twenty feet away. Some way be yond him, glinting in the starlight, lay the Triwizard Cup. Harry's wand was on the ground at Cedric's feet. The bundle of robes that Harry had thought was a baby was close by, at the foot of the grave. It seemed to be stirring fretfully. Harry watched it, and his scar seared with pain again… and he suddenly knew that he didn't want to see what was in those robes… he didn't want that bundle opened…

He could hear noises at his feet. He looked down and saw a gigantic snake slithering through the grass, circling the headstone where he was tied. Wormtail's fast, wheezy breathing was growing louder again. It sounded as though he was forcing something heavy across the ground. Then he came back within Harry's range of vision, and Harry saw him pushing a stone cauldron, big enough for a man to sit in, to the foot of the grave. It was full of what seemed to be water – Harry could hear it slopping around.

The thing inside the bundle of robes on the ground was stirring more persistently, as though it was trying to free itself. Now Worm tail was busying himself at the bottom of the cauldron with a wand. Suddenly there were crackling flames beneath it.

The liquid in the cauldron seemed to heat very fast. The surface began not only to bubble, but to send out fiery sparks, as though the liquid itself were on fire, and not the wood beneath the cauldron. Steam was thickening, blurring the outline of Worm tail tending the fire. The movements beneath the robes became more agitated. And Harry heard the high, cold voice again.

"_Hurry_!"

The whole surface of the water was alight with sparks now, as if it was encrusted with diamonds.

"It is ready, Master."

"_Now_…" said the cold voice.

Wormtail pulled open the robes on the ground, revealing what was inside them, and Harry let out a yell that was strangled in the wad of material blocking his mouth.

It was as though Wormtail had flipped over a stone and revealed something ugly, slimy, and blind — but worse, a hundred times worse. The thing Wormtail had been carrying had the shape of a crouched human child, except that Harry had never seen anything less like a child. It was hairless and scaly-looking, a dark, raw, red dish black. Its arms and legs were thin and feeble, and its face — no child alive ever had a face like that — flat and snakelike, with gleaming red eyes.

The thing seemed almost helpless; it raised its thin arms, put them around Wormtail's neck, and Wormtail lifted it. As he did so, his hood fell back, and Harry saw the look of revulsion on Worm tail's weak, pale face in the firelight as he carried the creature to the rim of the cauldron. For one moment, Harry saw the evil, flat face illuminated in the sparks dancing on the surface of the potion. And then Wormtail lowered the creature into the cauldron; there was a hiss, and it vanished below the surface; Harry heard its frail body hit the bottom with a soft thud.

_Let it drown,_ Harry thought, his scar burning almost past en durance, _please_… _let it drown_…

Wormtail was speaking. His voice shook; he seemed frightened beyond his wits. He raised his wand, closed his eyes, and spoke to the night.

"_Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son_!"

The surface of the grave at Harry's feet cracked. Horrified, Harry watched as a fine trickle of dust rose into the air at Wormtail's com mand and fell softly into the cauldron. The diamond surface of the water broke and hissed; it sent sparks in all directions and turned a vivid, poisonous-looking blue.

And now Wormtail was whimpering. He pulled a long, thin, shining silver dagger from inside his cloak. His voice broke into petrified sobs.

"_Flesh_ — _of the servant_ — _w-willingly given_ — _you will_ — _revive_ — _your master._"

He stretched his right hand out in front of him — the hand with the missing finger. He gripped the dagger very tightly in his left hand and swung it upward.

A scream pierced the night, one that went through Harry as though he had been stabbed with the dagger too. He heard something fall to the ground, heard Wormtail's anguished panting, and then a sickening splash, as something was dropped into the cauldron. Harry couldn't stand to look… but the potion had turned a burning red; the light of it shone through Harry's closed eyelids…

Wormtail was gasping and moaning with agony as he moved closer to Harry, his rancid breath overwhelming all other scents of the area.

"_B-blood of the enemy_… _forcibly taken_… _you will_… _resurrect your foe._"

Harry could do nothing to prevent it; he was tied too tightly… He felt the dagger's point penetrate the crook of his right arm and blood seeping down the sleeve of his torn robes. Wormtail, still panting with pain, fumbled in his pocket for a glass vial and held it to Harry's cut, so that a dribble of blood fell into it.

He staggered back to the cauldron with Harry's blood. He poured it inside. The liquid within turned, instantly, a blinding white. Wormtail, his job done, dropped to his knees beside the cauldron, then slumped sideways and lay on the ground, cradling the bleeding stump of his arm, gasping and sobbing.

The cauldron was simmering, sending its diamond sparks in all directions, so blindingly bright that it turned all else to velvety blackness from its greyish twilight. Nothing happened…

_Let it have drowned,_ Harry thought, _let the whole thing have gone wrong…_

And then, suddenly, the sparks were extinguished and instead a surge of white steam billowed thickly from the cauldron, obliterating everything in front of Harry, so that he couldn't see Wormtail or Cedric or anything but vapour hang ing in the air.

Then, through the mist in front of him, he saw, with an icy surge of terror, the dark outline of a man, tall and skeletally thin, rising slowly from inside the cauldron.

"Robe me," said the high, cold voice from behind the steam, and Wormtail, sobbing and moaning, still cradling his mutilated arm, scrambled to pick up the black robes from the ground, got to his feet, reached up, and pulled them one-handed over his master's head.

The thin man stepped out of the cauldron, staring at Harry… and Harry stared back into the face that had haunted his night mares for three years. Whiter than a skull, with wide, livid scarlet eyes and a nose that was flat as a snake's with slits for nostrils…

Lord Voldemort had risen again.

XXX

Voldemort looked away from Harry and began examining his own body. He took not the slightest notice of Wormtail, who lay twitching and bleeding on the ground, nor of the great snake, which had slithered back into sight and was cir cling Harry again, hissing. Voldemort slipped one of his unnat urally long-fingered hands into a deep pocket and drew out a wand. He caressed it gently too; and then he raised it, and pointed it at Wormtail, who was lifted off the ground and thrown against the headstone where Harry was tied; he fell to the foot of it and lay there, crumpled up and crying. Voldemort turned his scarlet eyes upon Harry, laughing a high, cold, mirthless laugh.

Wormtail's robes were shining with blood now; he had wrapped the stump of his arm in them.

"My Lord…" he choked, "my Lord… you promised… you did promise…"

"Hold out your arm," said Voldemort lazily, pre-empting his servant's move. "The other arm, Wormtail."

"Master, please… _please_…"

Voldemort bent down and pulled out Wormtail's left arm; he forced the sleeve of Wormtail's robes up past his elbow, and Harry saw something upon the skin there, a vivid-red tat too of the Dark Mark. Voldemort examined it carefully, ignoring Wormtail's uncontrollable weeping.

"It is back," he said softly, "they will all have noticed it… and now, we shall see… now we shall know…"

He pressed his long white forefinger to the brand on Wormtail's arm.

The scar on Harry's forehead seared with a sharp pain again, and Wormtail let out a fresh howl; Voldemort removed his fingers from Wormtail's mark, and Harry saw that it had turned jet black.

A look of cruel satisfaction on his face, Voldemort straightened up, threw back his head, and stared around at the dark graveyard.

"How many will be brave enough to return when they feel it?" he whispered, his gleaming red eyes fixed upon the stars. "And how many will be foolish enough to stay away?"

He began to pace up and down before Harry and Wormtail, eyes sweeping the graveyard all the while. After a minute or so, he looked down at Harry again, a cruel smile twisting his snakelike face.

"You stand, Harry Potter, upon the remains of my late father," he hissed softly. "A Muggle and a fool… very like your dear mother. But they both had their uses, did they not? Your mother died to defend you as a child… and I killed my father, and see how useful he has proved himself, in death…"

Voldemort chuckled.

"Listen to me, reliving family history…" he said quietly, "why, I am growing quite sentimental… But look, Harry! My _true_ fam ily returns…"

The air was suddenly full of the swishing of cloaks. Between graves, behind the yew tree, in every shadowy space, wizards were Apparating. All of them were hooded and masked. And one by one they moved forward… slowly, cautiously, as though they could hardly believe their eyes. Voldemort stood in silence, waiting for them. Then one of the Death Eaters fell to his knees, crawled to ward Voldemort, and kissed the hem of his black robes.

"Master… Master…" he murmured.

The Death Eaters behind him did the same; each of them ap proaching Voldemort on his knees and kissing his robes, before backing away and standing up, forming a silent circle, leaving gaps, as though waiting for more people. Voldemort, however, did not seem to expect more. He looked around at the hooded faces, and though there was no wind, a rustling seemed to run around the cir cle, as though it had shivered.

"Welcome, Death Eaters," said Voldemort quietly. "Thirteen years… thirteen years since last we met. Yet you answer my call as though it were yesterday… We are still united under the Dark Mark, then! _Or are we_?"

"I smell guilt," he said, sniffing the air. "There is a stench of guilt upon the air."

"I see you all, whole and healthy, with your powers intact... and I ask myself… why did this band of wizards never come to the aid of their master, to whom they swore eternal loyalty?"

No one spoke. No one moved except Wormtail, who was upon the ground, still sobbing over his bleeding arm.

"And I answer myself," whispered Voldemort, "they must have believed me broken, they thought I was gone. They slipped back among my enemies, and they pleaded innocence, and ignorance, and bewitchment…"

"And then I ask myself, but how could they have believed I would not rise again? They, who knew the steps I took, long ago, to guard myself against mortal death? They, who had seen proofs of the immensity of my power in the times when I was mightier than any wizard living?"

"And I answer myself, perhaps they believed a still greater power could exist, one that could vanquish even Lord Voldemort… per haps they now pay allegiance to another… perhaps that champion of commoners, of Mudbloods and Muggles, Albus Dumbledore?"

At the mention of Dumbledore's name, the members of the cir cle stirred, and some muttered and shook their heads. Voldemort ignored them.

One of the men suddenly flung himself forward, breaking the circle. Trembling from head to foot, he collapsed at Voldemort's feet.

"Master!" he shrieked, "Master, forgive me! Forgive us all!"

Voldemort began to laugh. He raised his wand.

"_Crucio_!"

The Death Eater on the ground writhed and shrieked. Voldemort raised his wand. The tortured Death Eater lay flat upon the ground, gasping.

"Get up, Avery," said Voldemort softly. "Stand up. You ask for forgiveness? I do not forgive. I do not forget. Thirteen long years… I want thirteen years' repayment before I forgive you. Wormtail here has paid some of his debt already, have you not, Wormtail?"

He looked down at Wormtail, who continued to sob.

"You returned to me, not out of loyalty, but out of fear of your old friends. You deserve this pain, Wormtail. You know that, don't you? But you helped return me to my body," said Voldemort coolly, watching Wormtail sob on the ground. "Worthless and traitorous as you are, you helped me… and Lord Voldemort rewards his helpers…"

Voldemort raised his wand again and whirled it through the air. A streak of what looked like molten silver hung shining in the wand's wake. Momentarily shapeless, it writhed and then formed itself into a gleaming replica of a human hand, bright as moon light, which soared downward and fixed itself upon Wormtail's bleeding wrist.

Wormtail's sobbing stopped abruptly. His breathing harsh and ragged, he raised his head and stared in disbelief at the silver hand, now attached seamlessly to his arm, as though he were wearing a dazzling glove. He flexed the shining fingers, then, trembling, picked up a small twig on the ground and crushed it into powder.

"My Lord," he whispered. "Master… it is beautiful… thank you… _thank you…_"

He scrambled forward on his knees and kissed the hem of Volde mort's robes.

"May your loyalty never waver again, Wormtail," said Voldemort.

Wormtail stood up and took his place in the circle, staring at his powerful new hand, his face still shining with tears. Voldemort now approached the man on Wormtail's right.

"Lucius, my slippery friend," he whispered, halting before him. "I am told that you have not renounced the old ways, though to the world you present a respectable face. But might not your energies have been bet ter directed toward finding and aiding your master?"

"My Lord, I was constantly on the alert," came Lucius Malfoy's voice swiftly from beneath the hood. "Had there been any sign from you, I would have been at your side immediately, nothing could have prevented me –"

"And yet you ran from my Mark, when a faithful Death Eater sent it into the sky last summer?" said Voldemort lazily, and Mr. Malfoy stopped talking abruptly. "Yes, I know all about that, Lu cius… You have disappointed me… I expect more faithful ser vice in the future."

"Of course, my Lord, of course… You are merciful, thank you…"

Voldemort moved on, and stopped, staring at the space — large enough for two people — that separated Malfoy and the next man.

"The Lestranges should stand here," said Voldemort quietly. "But they are entombed in Azkaban. They were faithful. They went to Azkaban rather than renounce me… When Azkaban is broken open, the Lestranges will be honoured beyond their dreams. The dementors will join us… they are our natural allies… we will recall the banished giants… I shall have all my devoted ser vants returned to me first, and then rebuild an army of creatures whom all fear…"

He walked on. Some of the Death Eaters he passed in silence, but he paused before others and spoke to them.

"Macnair… destroying dangerous beasts for the Ministry of Magic now, Wormtail tells me? You shall have better victims than that soon, Macnair. Lord Voldemort will provide…"

"Thank you, Master… thank you," murmured Macnair.

"I expect better examples of loyalty in the future, Nott," said Voldemort quietly as he walked past a stooped figure in big man's shadow.

"My Lord, I prostrate myself before you, I am your most faithful –"

"That will do," said Voldemort.

He had reached the largest gap of all, and he stood surveying it with his blank, red eyes, as though he could see people standing there.

"And here we have six missing Death Eaters… three dead in my service. One, too cowardly to return… he will pay. One, who I believe has left me forever… he will be killed, of course… and one, who remains my most faithful servant, and who has already re-entered my service."

The Death Eaters stirred, and Harry saw their eyes dart sideways at one another through their masks.

"He is at Hogwarts, that faithful servant, and it was through his efforts that our young friend arrived here tonight…"

"Yes," said Voldemort, a grin curling his lipless mouth as the eyes of the circle flashed in Harry's direction. "Harry Potter has kindly joined us for my re-birthing party. One might go so far as to call him my guest of honour."

There was a silence. Then the Death Eater to the right of Worm tail stepped forward, and Lucius Malfoy's voice spoke from under the mask.

"Master, we crave to know… how you have achieved this… this miracle… of returning to us…"

"Ah, what a story it is, Lucius," said Voldemort. "And it begins, and ends, with my young friend here."

He walked lazily over to stand next to Harry, so that the eyes of the whole circle were upon the two of them.

"You know, of course, that they have called this boy my down fall?" Voldemort said softly, his red eyes upon Harry, whose scar began to burn so fiercely that he almost screamed in agony. "You all know that on the night I lost my powers and my body, I tried to kill him. His mother died in the attempt to save him, and unwit tingly provided him with a protection I admit I had not fore seen… I could not touch the boy."

Voldemort raised one of his long white fingers and put it very close to Harry's cheek.

"His mother left upon him the traces of her sacrifice… This is old magic, I should have remembered it, and I was foolish to overlook it… but no matter. I can touch him now."

Harry felt the cold tip of the long white finger touch him, and thought his head would burst with the pain. Voldemort laughed softly in his ear, then took the finger away and continued address ing the Death Eaters.

"I miscalculated, my friends, I admit it. My curse was deflected by the woman's foolish sacrifice, and it rebounded upon myself. I was ripped from my body, I was less than spirit… but still, I was alive. What I was, even I do not know… I, who has gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality. And now, I was tested, and it appeared that one or more of my experiments had worked… for I had not been killed, though the curse should have done it. Nevertheless, I was as pow erless as the weakest creature alive and without the means to help myself…"

"I remember only forcing myself, sleeplessly, endlessly, second by second, to exist… I settled in a faraway place, in a forest, and I waited… Surely, one of my faithful Death Eaters would try and find me… one of them would come and perform the magic I could not, to restore me to a body… but I waited in vain…"

The shiver ran once more around the circle of listening Death Eaters. Voldemort let the silence spiral horribly before continuing.

"Only one power remained to me. I could possess the bodies of others. But I dared not go where other humans were plentiful, for I knew that the Aurors were still abroad and searching for me."

"Then… four years ago… the means for my return seemed assured. A young, foolish wizard, Quirinius Quirrel, came bumbling into my abode. I turned him with honeyed words, and infiltrated Hogwarts as a teacher. I possessed him to watch him carefully. But my plan failed. I did not manage to steal the Sorcerer's Stone. I was not to be assured immortal life. I was thwarted… thwarted, once again, by Harry Potter…"

Silence once more; nothing was stirring, not even the leaves on the yew tree. The Death Eaters were quite motionless, the glitter ing eyes in their masks fixed upon Voldemort, and upon Harry.

"The servant died when I left his body, and I was left as weak as ever I had been," Voldemort continued. "I returned to my hiding place far away, and, that was perhaps my darkest hour… I could not hope that I would be sent another wizard to possess… and I had given up hope, now, that any of my Death Eaters cared what had become of me…"

One or two of the masked wizards in the circle moved uncom fortably, but Voldemort took no notice.

"And then, not even a year ago, when I had almost abandoned hope, it happened at last… a servant returned to me. Wormtail here, who had faked his own death to escape justice, was driven out of hiding by those he had once counted friends, and decided to re turn to his master. He sought me in the country where it had long been rumoured I was hiding… helped, of course, by the rats he met along the way."

"But his journey back to me was not smooth, was it, Wormtail? For, hungry one night, on the edge of the very forest where he had hoped to find me, he foolishly stopped at an inn for some food… and who should he meet there, but one Bertha Jorkins, a witch from the Ministry of Magic. But somehow, Wormtail, displaying initiative I've never expected from him, captured her, and brought her to me."

"She told me that the Triwizard Tournament would be played at Hogwarts this year. She told me that she knew of a faithful Death Eater who would be only too willing to help me, if I could only contact him. She told me many things… but I broke her mind when I broke the Memory Charm placed on her. I could not possess her, so I disposed of her."

Voldemort smiled his terrible smile, his red eyes blank and pitiless.

"Wormtail's body, of course, was ill adapted for possession, as all assumed him dead, and would attract far too much attention if noticed. However, he was the able-bodied servant I needed, and Wormtail was able to follow the instruc tions I gave him, which would return me to a weak body of my own, a body I would be able to inhabit while awaiting true rebirth… a couple of my own spells… a little help from my dear Nagini," Voldemort's red eyes fell upon the continually circling snake, "a potion con cocted from unicorn blood, and the snake venom… I was soon returned to an almost human form, and strong enough to travel."

"Now, I was willing to embrace mortal life again, before chas ing immortality. I set my sights lower… I would settle for my old body back again, and my old strength. I knew that to achieve this — it is an old piece of Dark Magic, the potion that revived me tonight — I would need three powerful ingredients. Well, one of them was already at hand, was it not, Wormtail? Flesh given by a servant…"

"My father's bone, naturally, meant that we would have to come here, where he was buried. But the blood of a foe… I knew the one I must use, if I was to rise again, more powerful than I had been when I had fallen. I wanted Harry Potter's blood for the lingering protection his mother once gave him would then reside in my veins too…"

"But how to get at Harry Potter? For he has been better pro tected than I think even he knows, protected in ways devised by Dumbledore long ago, when it fell to him to arrange the boy's fu ture. Dumbledore invoked an ancient magic, to ensure the boy's protection as long as he is in his relations' care. Not even I can touch him there… Then, of course, there was the Quidditch World Cup… I was too weak to attempt an attack there. And then, the boy would return to Hogwarts, where he is un der the crooked nose of that Muggle-loving fool from morning until night. So how could I take him?"

"Why… by using Bertha Jorkins's information, of course. Use my one faithful Death Eater, stationed at Hogwarts, to ensure that the boy's name was entered into the Goblet of Fire. Use my Death Eater to ensure that the boy won the tournament and grasped the cup which my Death Eater had turned into a Portkey, which would bring him here, beyond the reach of Dumbledore's help and protection, and into my wait ing arms. And here he is … the boy you all believed had been my downfall. …"

Voldemort moved slowly forward and turned to face Harry. He raised his wand.

"_Crucio_!"

It was pain beyond anything Harry had ever experienced; his very bones were on fire; his head was surely splitting along his scar; his eyes were rolling madly in his head; how had Cedric endured this? He wanted it to end… to black out… to die…

And then it was gone. He was hanging limply in the ropes bind ing him to the headstone of Voldemort's father, looking up into those evil red eyes through a kind of mist. The night was ringing with the sound of the Death Eaters' laughter.

"You see, I think, how foolish it was to suppose that this boy could ever have been stronger than me," said Voldemort. "But I want there to be no mistake in anybody's mind. Harry Potter es caped me by a lucky chance. And I am now going to prove my power by killing him, here and now, in front of you all, when there is no Dumbledore to help him, and no mother to die for him. I will give him his chance. He will be allowed to fight, and you will be left in no doubt which of us is the stronger. Just a little longer, Nagini," he whispered, and the snake glided away through the grass to where the Death Eaters stood watching.

"Untie him, Wormtail, and give him back his wand."

Wormtail approached Harry, who scrambled to find his feet, to support his own weight before the ropes were un tied. Wormtail raised his new silver hand, pulled out the wad of material gagging Harry, and then, with one swipe, cut through the bonds tying Harry to the gravestone.

There was a split second, perhaps, when Harry might have con sidered running for it, but his injured leg shook under him as he stood on the overgrown grave, as the Death Eaters formed a tighter circle around him and Voldemort. Wormtail walked out of the circle to the place where Cedric's body lay and returned with Harry's wand, which he thrust roughly into Harry's hand without looking at him. Then Wormtail resumed his place in the circle of watching Death Eaters.

"You have been taught how to duel, Harry Potter?" said Volde mort softly, his red eyes glinting through the darkness.

At these words Harry remembered, as though from a former life, the duelling club at Hogwarts he had attended briefly two years ago… All he had learned there was the Disarming Spell, "_Expel liarmus_"… and what use would it be for the goal of depriving Voldemort of his wand? He had never learned any thing that could possibly fit him for this. He knew he was facing the thing against which Moody had always warned… the un-blockable _Avada Kedavra_ curse, without his mother, this time. He was quite unprotected.

"We bow to each other, Harry," said Voldemort, bending a little, but keeping his snakelike face upturned to Harry. "Come, the niceties must be observed… Dumbledore would like you to show manners… Bow to death, Harry…"

The Death Eaters were laughing again. Voldemort's lipless mouth was smiling. Harry did not bow. He was not going to let Voldemort play with him before killing him…

"I said, _bow,_" Voldemort said, raising his wand — and Harry felt his spine curve as though a huge, invisible hand were bending him forcefully forward, and the Death Eaters laughed harder than ever.

"Very good," said Voldemort softly, and as he raised his wand the pressure bearing down upon Harry lifted too. "And now you face me, like a man… straight-backed and proud, the way your pathetic father died…"

"And now – we duel."

Voldemort raised his wand, and before Harry could do anything to defend himself, before he could even move, he had been hit again by the Cruciatus Curse. The pain was so intense, so all-consuming, that he no longer knew where he was… White-hot knives were piercing every inch of his skin, his head was surely going to burst with pain, he was screaming more loudly than he'd ever screamed in his life —

And then it stopped. Harry rolled over and scrambled to his feet; he was shaking as uncontrollably as Wormtail had done when his hand had been cut off; he staggered sideways into the wall of watching Death Eaters, and they pushed him away, back toward Voldemort.

"A little break," said Voldemort, the slit-like nostrils dilating with excitement, "a little pause… That hurt, didn't it, Harry? You don't want me to do that again, do you?"

Harry didn't answer. He was going to die like Cedric, those piti less red eyes were telling him so… he was going to die, and there was nothing he could do about it… but he wasn't going to play along. He wasn't going to obey Voldemort… he wasn't going to beg…

"I asked you whether you want me to do that again," said Volde mort softly. "Answer me! _Imperio_!"

And Harry felt, for the third time in his life, the sensation that his mind had been wiped of all thought… Ah, it was bliss, not to think, it was as though he were floating, dreaming… _just answer no_… _say no_… _just answer no_…

I will not, said a stronger voice, in the back of his head, I won't answer…

_Just answer no…_

"I WON'T!"

And these words burst from Harry's mouth; they echoed through the graveyard, and the dream state was lifted as suddenly as though cold water had been thrown over him – back rushed the aches that the Cruciatus Curse had left all over his body – back rushed the realization of where he was, and who he was facing…

"You won't?" said Voldemort quietly, and the Death Eaters were not laughing now. "You won't say no? Harry, obedience is a virtue I need to teach you before you die… Perhaps another dose of pain?"

Voldemort raised his wand, but this time Harry was ready; with the his Quidditch reflexes, he flung himself side ways onto the ground; he rolled behind the marble headstone of Voldemort's father, and he heard it crack as the curse missed him.

"We are not playing hide-and-seek, Harry," said Voldemort's soft, cold voice, drawing nearer, as the Death Eaters laughed. "You can not hide from me. Does this mean you are tired of our duel? Come out, Harry… come out and play, then… it will be quick… it might even be painless… I would not know… I have never died…"

Harry crouched behind the headstone and knew the end had come. There was no hope… no help to be had. And as he heard Voldemort draw nearer still, he knew one thing only, and it was be yond fear or reason: He was not going to die crouching here like a child playing hide-and-seek; he was not going to die kneeling at Voldemort's feet… he was going to die upright like his father, and he was going to die trying to defend himself…

Harry breathed in, searching for that inner oasis that granted him absolute control. He seemed to be getting faster and faster at it. The first time he had accessed it had been in third year, when casting the Patronus that saved his and Sirius's life. The second had been back in the maze.

Before Voldemort could stick his snakelike face around the headstone, Harry stood up… he gripped his wand tightly in his hand, thrust it out in front of him, and threw himself around the headstone, facing Voldemort.

Voldemort was ready. As Harry shouted, "_Expelliarmus_!" Volde mort cried, "_Avada Kedavra_!"

But then Voldemort registered Harry's powerful appearance.

A jet of green light issued from Voldemort's wand just as a huge beam of red light blasted from Harry's – they met in midair – and there was an enormous blast of magic, a white sphere of destruction that quickly grew, incinerating all objects in its way.

The white light enveloped the two duellers, before swallowing the Death Eater spectators.

XXX

Harry struggled to lift his body off the ground, feeling like he had been hit by a Bludger. Opposite to him, it seemed the Dark Lord was suffering from the same problem. Harry looked around. All the tombstones that had been around him had been incinerated. The Death Eaters were all still out cold, lying several feet from where they had been previously standing, as if something had blasted them off their feet.

Harry rolled himself over, and used his left hand to push himself off the ground, using his knees to make it all the way to a kneeling position. Harry grabbed his wand, lying innocuously next to him, before fully standing and facing Voldemort, who also stood ready.

"Well, Harry, are you ready? No spectators, no time for that little trick of yours." Voldemort said sinisterly. "Just the two of us, in a one-on-one duel."

Harry simply raised his wand, too tired to taunt his opponent. His magic seemed drained away by that last spell. He didn't think he could do it again anyway.

And once again, as Voldemort shouted "_Avada Kedavra!_", Harry shouted "_Expelliarmus!_", and this time, the similarly sized beams collided in mid air and... sud denly Harry's wand was vibrating as though an electric charge were surging through it; his hand seized up around it; he couldn't have released it if he'd wanted to — and a narrow beam of light con nected the two wands, neither red nor green, but bright, deep gold. Harry, following the beam with his astonished gaze, saw that Voldemort's long white fingers too were gripping a wand that was shaking and vibrating.

And then – nothing could have prepared Harry for this – he felt his feet lift from the ground. He and Voldemort were both being raised into the air, their wands still connected by that thread of shimmering golden light. They glided away from the grave of Voldemort's father, from all the resting Death Eaters, and then came to rest on another patch of ground that was clear and free of graves...

The golden thread connecting Harry and Voldemort splintered; though the wands remained connected, a thousand more beams arced high over Harry and Voldemort, crisscrossing all around them, until they were enclosed in a golden, dome-shaped web, a cage of light.

"What is this?" Voldemort shrieked at Harry, and Harry saw his red eyes wide with astonishment at what was hap pening, saw him fighting to break the thread of light still connect ing his wand with Harry's; Harry held onto his wand more tightly, with both hands, and the golden thread remained unbroken. "What have you done now?"

And then an unearthly and beautiful sound filled the air… It was coming from every thread of the light-spun web vibrating around Harry and Voldemort. It was a sound Harry recognized, though he had heard it only once before in his life: phoenix song.

It was the sound of hope to Harry… the most beautiful and welcome thing he had ever heard in his life… He felt as though the song were inside him instead of just around him… It was the sound he connected with Dumbledore, and it was almost as though a friend were speaking in his ear…

_Don't break the connection._

_I know_, Harry told the music, _I know I mustn't_… but no sooner had he thought it, than the thing became much harder to do. His wand began to vibrate more powerfully than ever… and now the beam between him and Voldemort changed too… it was as though large beads of light were sliding up and down the thread connecting the wands – Harry felt his wand give a shudder under his hand as the light beads began to slide slowly and steadily his way… The direction of the beam's movement was now toward him, from Voldemort, and he felt his wand shudder angrily…

As the closest bead of light moved nearer to Harry's wand tip, the wood beneath his fingers grew so hot, and vibrated with so much intensity he feared it would not remain unblemished. He was sure his wand would not survive contact with it; it felt as though it was about to shatter under his fingers –

He concentrated every last particle of his mind, in a similar way to the way he found his centre, upon forcing the bead back toward Voldemort, his ears full of phoenix song, filling with him unbeatable hope, his eyes furious, fixed… and slowly, very slowly, the beads quivered to a halt, and then, just as slowly, they began to move the other way… and it was Voldemort's wand that was vibrating extra-hard now… Voldemort who looked astonished, and almost fearful…

One of the beads of light was quivering, inches from the tip of Voldemort's wand. Harry didn't understand why he was doing it … but he now concentrated as he had never done in his life on forcing that bead of light right back into Voldemort's wand… and slowly… very slowly… it moved along the golden thread… it trembled for a moment… and then it connected…

At once, Voldemort's wand began to emit echoing screams of pain… then – Voldemort's red eyes widened with shock – a dense, smoky hand flew out of the tip of it and vanished… more shouts of pain… and then something much larger began to blossom from Voldemort's wand tip, a great, greyish something, that looked as though it were made of the solidest, densest smoke… It was a head… now a chest and arms… the torso of Cedric Diggory.

If ever Harry might have released his wand from shock, it would have been then, but instinct kept him clutching his wand tightly, so that the thread of golden light remained unbroken, even though the thick gray clone of Cedric Diggory emerged in its entirety from the end of Voldemort's wand, as though it were squeezing itself out of a very narrow tunnel… and this shade of Cedric stood up, and looked up and down the golden thread of light, and spoke.

"Hold on, Harry," it said.

Its voice has an undertone as though it was distant and echoing, coming from far away, but for the most part, Cedric sounded as if he was still in the graveyard. Harry looked at Volde mort… his wide red eyes were still shocked… he had no more expected this than Harry had… and, very dimly, Harry heard the frightened yells of the now awakened Death Eaters, prowling around the edges of the golden dome…

More screams of pain from the wand… and then something else emerged from its tip… the dense shadow of a second head, quickly followed by arms and torso… an old man Harry had seen only in a dream was now pushing himself out of the end of the wand just as Cedric had done… and his ghost, or his shadow, or whatever it was, fell next to Cedric's, and surveyed Harry and Voldemort, and the golden web, and the connected wands, with mild surprise, leaning on his walking stick…

"He was a real wizard, then?" the old man said, his eyes on Voldemort. "Killed me, that one did… You fight him, boy…"

But already, yet another head was emerging… and this head, gray as a smoky statue, was a woman's… Harry, both arms shak ing now as he fought to keep his wand still, saw her drop to the ground and straighten up like the others, staring…

The shadow of Bertha Jorkins, someone Voldemort so casually killed, surveyed the battle before her with wide eyes.

"Don't let go, now!" she cried, and her voice echoed like Cedric's as though from even further away. "Don't let him get you, Harry – don't let go!"

She and the other two shadowy figures began to pace around the inner walls of the golden web, while the Death Eaters flitted around the outside of it… and Voldemort's dead victims whispered as they circled the duellers, whispered words of encouragement to Harry, and hissed words Harry couldn't hear to Voldemort.

And now another head was emerging from the tip of Volde mort's wand… and Harry knew when he saw it who it would be… he knew, as though he had expected it from the moment when Cedric had appeared from the wand… knew, because the woman was the one he'd thought of more than any other tonight…

The smoky shadow of a young woman with long hair fell to the ground as Bertha had done, straightened up, and looked at him… and Harry, his arms shaking madly now, looked back into the ghostly face of his mother.

"Your father's coming…" she said quietly. "Hold on for your father… it will be all right… hold on…"

And he came… first his head, then his body… tall and untidy-haired like Harry, the smoky, shadowy form of James Potter blossomed from the end of Voldemort's wand, fell to the ground, and straightened like his wife. He walked close to Harry, looking down at him, and he spoke in the same distant, echoing voice, but from even further than Bertha, as the others, but quietly, so that Voldemort, his face now livid with fear as his victims prowled around him, could not hear…

"When the connection is broken, we will linger for only mo ments… but we will give you time… you must get to the Portkey, it will return you to Hogwarts… do you understand, Harry?"

"Yes," Harry gasped, fighting now to keep a hold on his wand, which was slipping and sliding beneath his fingers.

"Harry…" whispered the figure of Cedric, "take my body back, will you? Take my body back to my parents…"

"I will," said Harry, his face screwed up with the effort of hold ing the wand.

"Do it now," whispered his father's voice, "be ready to run… do it now…"

"NOW!" Harry yelled; he didn't think he could have held on for another moment anyway – he pulled his wand upward with an almighty wrench, and the golden thread broke; the cage of light vanished, the phoenix song died – but the shadowy figures of Voldemort's victims did not disappear – they were closing in upon Voldemort, shielding Harry from his gaze –

And Harry ran as he had never run in his life, knocking two stunned Death Eaters aside as he passed; he zigzagged behind head stones, feeling their curses following him, hearing them hit the headstones – he was dodging curses and graves, pelting toward Cedric's body, no longer aware of the pain in his leg, his whole be ing concentrated on what he had to do –

"_Stun him_!" he heard Voldemort scream.

Ten feet from Cedric, Harry dived behind a marble angel to avoid the jets of red light and saw the tip of its wing shatter as the spells hit it. Gripping his wand more tightly, he dashed out from behind the angel –

"_Impedimenta_!" he bellowed, pointing his wand wildly over his shoulder at the Death Eaters running at him.

From a muffled yell, he thought he had stopped at least one of them, but there was no time to stop and look; he jumped over the cup and dived as he heard more wand blasts behind him; more jets of light flew over his head as he fell, stretching out his hand to grab Cedric's arm –

"Stand aside! I will kill him! He is mine!" shrieked Voldemort.

Harry's hand had closed on Cedric's wrist; one tombstone stood between him and Voldemort, but Cedric was too heavy to carry, and the cup was out of reach –

Voldemort's red eyes flamed in the darkness. Harry saw his mouth curl into a smile, saw him raise his wand.

But then the wand seemed to spin by itself, pointing straight at Harry, and spurt of purplish, black flames erupted from its end, moving far faster than any normal spell would. Voldemort looked shocked in the dark light, his eyes narrowing as the flames quickly approached Harry.

"_Accio_!" Harry yelled desperately, pointing his wand at the Triwizard Cup.

But before it even flew half the distance it needed to, the flames hit Harry, blasting him out of the way, setting him on magical fire. He screamed, the Cruciatus was nothing compared to this... one last thought entered his mind... _What is this spell? Voldemort didn't 'cast' it! _before he succumbed to the pain, a dancing dark purple light the last thing that Harry saw, his ears picking up strains of phoenix song.


End file.
